


Sculpted

by KleoHoney



Series: Inspired By [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Chris Evans - Fandom
Genre: 18+, Art Block, Captain America - Freeform, Depressive Thoughts, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Jealousy, Marvel - Freeform, Possessiveness, Pygmalion and Galatea, Sculpture, Tags to be added, read warnings, smut in part two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KleoHoney/pseuds/KleoHoney
Summary: Artist!Steve creates a statue so beautiful that he falls in love with it and it later comes to life.Inspired by the Greek Myth of Pygmalion and Galatea.
Relationships: Artist!Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Series: Inspired By [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006101
Comments: 24
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!

Pain. Anxiety. A soul-crushing loneliness that refused to shift from his chest. Steve Rogers had been strong enough to avoid succumbing to the illnesses that had ravaged him as a child but still weak enough for emotions to get the better of him. 

The worst was the isolation. He had few friends and couldn’t bring himself to reach out to them. Ask for help, like all the adverts encouraged. He watched them sometimes, recognised some of the things they talked about as applicable to him, but there was an eerie separation. Like they cared about other people but just not him. 

Bucky always asked him if he was okay. Over text, in person, whenever he got the chance really. Steve always said yes, though the lie always left a bitter, ashy taste coating his tongue. 

Steve busied himself with his art. Eventually that became too difficult to separate from the inner workings of his head. Bright, abstract colours became dull and pasty. The paint refused to work with his brushes and repelled all good ideas. His sales began to go down - of course - because he obviously needed financial difficulty on top of whatever this was. 

A slump. A bump in the road. Whatever. It was easy to recognise that he hadn’t yet hit the bottom of whatever hole he was falling into.

The only thing that prompted him to leave his house was trips for coffee. At least once a day. The walk would do him good, or so his doctor told him. Everything else was delivered. Shopping, his art supplies. Sometimes the delivery man was the only person he’d spoken to that week and it was okay. It was fine. 

So Steve made himself go out for coffee. There was a fancy little place around the corner that made him feel productive on even the worst of days. Maybe he could even get one of those nicely decorated cakes. One with something pretty on the top. One worth drawing. 

He knew it wasn’t going to go as planned when he stumbled over his order and mixed it up. They didn’t have any of the cakes he’d been eying either, so he had to settle for a cookie. The coffee was too bitter (he already had enough of that in his life) so he hadn’t been able to finish it. The cookie was hard instead of soft. And fuck, he was almost crying over the consistency of a cookie. 

The bell rang and Steve’s eyes tracked the movement, settling on the couple that had just entered. Two men, holding hands and laughing. Carelessly. Joyfully. Steve’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest but he forced himself to watch. People watching was an easy distraction. Inspiring, too. 

He thumbed open his sketchbook. A5, discreet. Flipped to an empty page - of which there were many - and held his pencil at the ready. His heart was beating fast, went even faster when the couple shared a kiss, only parting for air. Steve would gladly give up all air if someone would kiss him like that. 

They were chuckling, leaning close together. Noses almost touching. Sharing a private joke, maybe. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d been told a joke. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. His throat constricted and he coughed, trying to loosen the vice that had wrapped itself around it. 

Five minutes passed, then half an hour. An hour. Two. The couple had ordered and drank their coffee, eaten their desserts. Hand fed each other pieces and laughed when crumbs stuck to pink lips. Brushed them away so softly that Steve’s heart ached. 

When they left, Steve let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Stared down at his paper - blank. His pencil hovered precariously above the white sheet as if there was still a promise of him drawing something. Making use of the time he’d spent watching the lovers. Steve let it drop down, making a single dot in the centre of the page. And that was all. 

He had no other ideas, had nothing else. A choked up laugh escaped at that. There was no better way to put it. He had nothing else.  
Steve forced himself to get up, tucking away his sketch book back in his pocket and discarding his coffee and cookie in the bin. He paused for a minute, thinking. Then he threw his pencil in the bin, too. Wasn’t like he needed it. 

The walk home was a long one. Steve knew that if he went back right now, stepped into the dark and cloying atmosphere of his house, he would likely breakdown. And that really wasn’t what he needed right now. 

What he needed was something inspiring. Something just for himself. Something he could be wholeheartedly selfish with. His fingers itched to pick up the phone and call Bucky but there was a tiny, traitorous part of his mind that said not to. It said that he shouldn’t disturb Bucky, he might be busy. It wasn’t fair to burden his best friend with his trivial problems. 

He needed a break from drawing. Painting, too. They were Steve’s go-to forms of art but sometimes he tried poetry. Though it kind of sucked when he had no-one to write poems for. There was writing, but Steve had nothing to write about. Dancing. . .no. He needed something quick but challenging. Something to take his mind off of things. 

There was clay at his house. Stone, ivory, plaster. Steve had a friend who was into sculpting and had given him lessons a few months back. Steve hadn’t been overly fond of the mess or the way the materials clung to his hands but it was time for a change. Maybe it was a kind of sign, too. Steve had been meaning to give them back or throw them out for months but hadn’t quite gotten round to it. And now he needed them, and they were there. 

The house was dim but Steve hardly noticed. He didn’t pause to take his shoes off, only discarded his coat over the back of his sofa. There was an urge for the first time in months. The urge to do, to create, and Steve would hold onto it until his hands turned bloody. 

☀︎

The art room was his favourite room, even though he hadn’t used it much lately. One wall was entirely window to allow for as much natural light as possible. There were skylights above, too. The lights he did have were extremely bright and allowed for minuscule details to be made. The smallest of perfections. 

The supplies were stored under the stairs, so Steve went back out and retrieved them. The stand was extraordinarily heavy and Steve couldn’t remembered putting it there. It took a long time to drag it from the storage cupboard to his room. He put it as close to the window as possible. His friend had mentioned that temperature and light could affect the consistency and end result of a sculpture but it just felt. . .right. 

“It needs sunlight,” Steve nodded slowly. Saying it out loud it felt even more exhilarating. 

The process was a long one. Mixing, adding, waiting. There was a brief panic when Steve thought that maybe he’d get bored and retract back into his shell, but he didn’t. He watched, oddly intrigued. 

‘I’m going to make something out of that,’ he solemnly though, ‘and she’s going to be beautiful’.

Finally, it was done. Steve leaned over the mix, staring down into it. There was a feeling, a magic dancing on his fingers and it made him feel alive. And fuck if that wasn’t what he needed. 

“Alive,” he whispered, “you’ve made me feel alive already. I hope I can do you justice.”

Steve wasn’t sure when it had become a she, but he went with it. It felt right. Scooping some of the mix into his hands, Steve began.

His friend hadn’t made any particular comment on his abilities when they’d been teaching him but Steve was sculpting as if he’d been doing it for years. The easy give and take of the clay under his fingers was familiar, the building of it simple. There was an idea in his mind and Steve wouldn’t stop until she was real. 

The only time he took a break was to turn on the lights and get a drink. He sipped slowly, admiring what was before him. It was a woman, no doubt. There was a curve to her calves, a daintiness in her feet. Steve had done that with his own hands. Pride swelled and Steve put his cup down. He wanted to complete her. 

Steve didn’t stop until his eyesight was bleary and his hands were shaking. That was when he forced himself to pull away. It wouldn’t do to make any mistakes. 

He slept in his art room that night, keeping his art in his line of sight. He fell asleep with the feeling of soft flesh under his hands and a laugh that sounded like the tinkling of a thousand bells. 

☀︎  
The next few weeks were tough, but Steve persevered. His favourite moment so far had been when he had completed her waist. The gentle dip that swelled into round hips. Steve spent many an hour tracing that gentle slope with his clay-coated fingers. It was entrancing. 

He’d been so pleased with himself after that that he’d texted Bucky and invited him out for drinks. Bucky had been pleasantly surprised but had agreed to meet him at the closest bar within the hour. 

“You look. . .” Bucky mulled carefully over his words. “Happy. Like you’re glowing.”

“Yeah?” Steve took a swig from his drink. “I feel that way.”

“Any particular reason?” Bucky probed, a soft smile tugging on his lips.

“Just feeling more like myself,” Steve shrugged but smiled back. “It’s really good to see you, Buck.”

The conversation turned down a different track after that. Whether it was the easy atmosphere or the never ending drinks, Steve found himself opening up to his best friend. About his struggle with himself for the past few months, his dwindling creativity and the urge to curl up in bed and never leave.

Bucky listened patiently, nodding and frowning where appropriate. Just like Steve had imagined he would. There was a weight on his chest that he’d gradually been chipping away at for the past few weeks but with this reveal, Steve felt it shatter. He could breathe. 

Bucky clapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad you told me, Stevie. I had a feeling but - you’re a stubborn guy, y’know? Knew I wasn’t gonna get anything out of you unless you wanted me to.”

“You’re definitely right,” Steve admitted, scratching at his beard. He hadn’t shaved since he’d started sculpting. Every waking moment had been dedicated to her. “Thanks for waitin’, Buck.”

Bucky smiled, all easy and wide. “Any time, punk.”

Steve went home a few hours after that, slightly drunk and very happy. It was all turning around. 

The sight of his sculpture made his grin even wider and a little dopey. Still, he forced himself to stay away. Drinking made him all shaky and he didn’t want to ruin his progress.

He looked at her from his sleeping back on the floor. Illuminated by the moon, she looked almost real. A week ago he’d finished her breasts and now the moonlight caressed the soft swells. His hands itched to follow the path and he laughed. Was it possible to be sexually attracted to your own art?

But she didn’t feel like art. She felt like something he’d seen before, someone who had been dancing on the periphery of his mind for his entire life. She was everything. 

The art block he’d had had been completely vanquished. Maybe the block had been her. He’d been unable to create anything else until he had her, giving and smooth under his hands.

“Not much longer, sweetheart,” he murmured. He imagined that she turned toward him a little, listening to what he had to say. “Almost.”

It took Steve ages to fall asleep. There were no curtains in the art room and the moon seemed extra bright that night. 

☀︎  
There was a slight tremor in his hands as he smoothed over the subtle dip of cheekbones and cupid’s bow. Perspiration beaded on his forehead but he didn’t bother wiping it away. No, he didn’t want to pull his hands away for even one minute. Not when he was so close.

The hair had been the hardest. First was choosing the style that most suited her face shape, then was making it look real. As if it was flowing in the breeze. It had taken hours and he’d had to go out to purchase specific tools on his quest to make her look as life like as possible.

And fuck, she looked real. 

A shudder wracked his chest as he stepped back. He had to tilt his head down slightly to look at her. She was smaller than him by a few centimetres, tall compared to most people. It suited her. 

Her face had been easy. He hadn’t had to think about it. The minute he’d begun to work on her face it had popped straight into his mind. The nose, eyes, mouth. It was just there, like it had always been. 

Steve wondered if he should maybe take a picture to send to Buck, finally reveal what he’d been spending so much time on. Without picking the camera up, he knew it would’t do her justice. That, and there was a niggling feeling that told him to keep her for himself. Someone just for him, like he’d wanted. 

He laughed to himself, reaching out to stroke a finger down her arm. Well, maybe not exactly in the way he’d pictured it. A breath caught in his lungs and he yanked his hand back, glancing from his fingers to her arm. For a moment, then, it had felt warm. 

“The sun,” he suddenly said, scolding himself. “I put you in the sun. Fuck.”

Taking a step back, Steve took in a deep breath. Laughed. It was beginning to look as if he’d spent a little too much time in this room with her. Retrieving his coat from the door, Steve shuffled it on and then looked back.

“I’m going out,” he told her. “Don’t go anywhere. Ha.”

He disappeared from the room and the sound of the front door slamming followed after; he was gone. And slowly, ever so softly, the statue blinked.

☀︎  
One moment you were nothing, and then you were. Bright light, colours, smells, sounds. It was overwhelming and exhilarating and strange at all once. 

There had been only a dull feeling as he’d worked on your body, firm hands stroking along your waist and legs, smoothing over rough areas. As if you were dreaming but someone was talking to you. Then he’d crafted your head, fashioned your face, and wondrous thoughts bloomed to life. For the first time, you could think. 

You knew things without having to think about them. Knew that he - Steve - was an artist. Knew the names of all the colours he used, his favourite techniques. Emotions were new to you but when you thought about Steve and how he’d felt when he’d first started making you, a deep, sharp sensation slashed across your chest.

‘Sadness,’ you tested the word on your lips, not daring to say them out loud. ‘I feel sad.’

He’d gone to see his friend. Bucky. Tentatively, you raised a hand to your lips, felt the words as the poured past. Your voice was slightly croaky, vocal cords unused to being used. 

The universe worked in mysterious ways. You were proof of that. When you thought of your purpose, wondered what it might be, all that you could think was Steve Steve Steve. He had created you, crafted you a body that was yours alone. The thought didn’t bring you as much joy as you assumed it would. It was yours, but you wanted to share.

Your skin was beginning to colour thanks to the sun. You tilted your head up, basking in the warmth. It was Steve who had thought to put you there. You’d have to thank him for that. The moon had it’s purpose too, forming your bones and colouring them milky white. None of it would have been possible if it wasn’t for Steve.

The first touch of your soles on the floor had you crumpling into a heap. Steve made walking look easy, made it look natural, but you would need practice. 

Fatigue was wrapping itself around you like a cocoon. How was it that you could be so tired? Regardless, every emotion and feeling was a welcome one, so you crawled your way to Steve’ sleeping bag.

He’d slept there many a night whilst working on your body. Watching him had been your favourite thing. He spent so long on you that it was nice to watch as that tense expression melted away in sleep. You’d itched to reach out, stroke strands of hair from his face, but you hadn’t been able to. Not then. Now, though, maybe you could. You wanted to. 

“Desire,” you tested the word on your tongue, rolling the words in your mouth. “I desire. . .Steve.” you found the words to be true. 

☀︎  
Gone. She was gone.

First, Steve was baffled. Then he was pissed.

How the fuck has someone got into his house and stolen a life-sized statue? Her stand stood eerily alone, absent of the figure he’d spent weeks on. He should have never gone to see Bucky. 

Shakily, he swiped a hand down his face. He had a full beard now and it scraped against his palm. When he was younger he hadn’t been able to grow facial hair. Now he had a beard and he was an artist and he wasn’t lonely anymore and - and he’d thought things were looking up. 

Even better, the thief was napping in his sleeping bag.

Briefly he thought about getting a weapon. Then his brain registered the hair peeking out of the top of the sleeping bag (familiar?) and he discarded the thought. Steve didn’t hit women, even if they were thieves. 

He let out a silent exhale. He’d ask them to return his statue and then he’d send them on their merry way. No violence necessary. 

Then the lump beneath the sleeping bag shifted, yawned. Sat up slowly and - oh. Subtle cheekbones, curious eyes, pliant lips. Skin softer than silk, covered only by a flimsy scrap of material that Steve recognised as his shirt.  
Then Steve was on his knees, crawling toward the woman. Reaching out with a trembling hand and touching because he had to know. That shirt wasn’t the only thing he recognised.He found smooth skin, familiar underneath his hand. Oh.

Long lashes dusted her cheeks when she blinked. A slow, gradual smile. Then, “Hello, lover.”

Hello, indeed.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings: 18+** , self-deprecating thoughts, possessiveness, jealousy, smut, oral sex (female receiving), curse words, slight cock-warming

Awe. Shock. Euphoria. 

Steve wasn’t sure what he was feeling but _fuck_ , he was feeling it. 

Glossy eyes framed by black lashes blinked up at him, grinned indulgently. As if they were sharing a secret. They kind of were. Living in the age of aliens from outer space and Norse Gods, Steve wasn’t surprised that something like this was possible. No, the surprising thing was that it could happen to someone like him. 

“Lover,” frowned the girl, her tone sad and disapproving, “you are thinking badly of yourself. I can see it on your face.” She reached out to touch him, trailing a fingertip down his jaw.

“Steve,” he corrected automatically, catching her hand in his. Tried not to marvel at the softness of it or the way his engulfed hers. So tiny. He knew because he’d made her that way. “I - uh, you can call me Steve.”

She smiled, pleased. “Steve, then.”

She was wearing his shirt, he thought dumbly. Focusing on the finer details was all he could manage (even if they made him harder than rock). The faint lines around her mouth, the shape of her face, of her hands. He recognised those, had had them in his head for far before he’d made them hers. What he hadn’t expected was the colour of her lips, the texture of her hair, the way her skin seemed to glow in the natural light. 

“How?” He managed.

The girl’s eyes fluttered as if she was trying to remember. “I. . .don’t know. I wasn’t and then I was. You needed me, so here I am.”

“Here you are,” he agreed. Panic flashed through him, making his palms sweaty. “Is - oh, God. Is anyone going to come looking for you?”

“No, Steve,” she laughed. The letters of his name stroked her tongue. “You’re the only one who knows about me. I didn’t exist before you.”

“I-okay,” he breathed out, “okay. What now?”

The girl thought for a minute. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” Steve said slowly. Her words were putting ideas - filthy, filthy ideas - in his head. The slow smile spreading across her lips told him that she knew exactly what he was thinking. She blinked coyly and he jumped, rubbing a hand over his flaming cheeks. “Clothes. You need clothes.”

She tilted her head. Grinned. “I do?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “You do.” 

Steve had never had to control himself before, had never been overwhelmed by lust and passion. But looking at her. . .Steve swallowed. It was his fault. He’d pulled every ideal out of his head and made the perfect person. Her.

Resisting her allure was an impossible feat. Steve had laid this trap himself and he was about to willingly fall into it. Though maybe trap was the wrong word. Trap had negative connotations and looking at her made Steve feel the most hopeful he had in months. 

🌕

Maybe it was wrong to feel so possessive of a girl he’d only just met (though she’d been haunting his head for years) but Steve couldn’t quite seem to help himself. It was almost primal, the way his lip would curl at anyone who looked at her for longer than two seconds. And by anyone, he meant everyone. 

His girl was gorgeous but that wasn’t it. There was an unnatural, otherworldly glow about her that he knew was a result of her origins. Steve knew that if he reached out and traced the curve of her waist with his fingers he’d recognise it. Put a blindfold on him and he’d probably be able to map out a plan of her body without even having to peek once. 

Looking wouldn’t hurt, though.

Dry. His throat was dry. He chugged from his water bottle faster than was consider polite. His girl glanced at him and he offered it to her without thinking, cheeks still puffed out with water. Fucking embarrassing. 

Mirth danced in her eyes as she took the water bottle from his hands, raising it to her own lips and drinking deeply. Unbothered by the fact her lips were touching where his had been moments ago. 

“You look nervous,” she said slowly. “Steve.” 

There was a drop of water on her bottom lip and her tongue darted out to get it. Pink her tongue was pink. He hadn’t expected that.

“I am,” he murmured, “isn’t that expected? Given the situation?”

She let her fingers trail along the clothes on the rack though her expression betrayed her disinterest. Steve had wanted to take her somewhere better than the supermarket, somewhere expensive, but she’d insisted on going somewhere quick and close. Steve had obliged. 

“I don’t know, Steve,” she said, “I don’t think it’s the situation that’s making you nervous right now.”

“You don’t?”

She didn’t respond, instead turning to disappear down another aisle. Steve followed along, almost as if he was being pulled on a string. The sway of her hips was alluring, even if she was wearing his gym shorts and a baggy top. Even the loosest of clothing couldn’t hide the shape of her body from him, not when he knew it so well. 

It was strange, the way he knew how she would feel without having to touch her. A sixth sense, almost. He knew that the flesh around her hips was soft, just enough for him to sink his fingers into and get a good grip. He knew that her breasts were slightly uneven, stretch marks on the sides. He knew that there was a rounding of her stomach, one he wanted to kiss and nip at. 

The ghastly lighting of the store woke him from his reverie and he staggered slightly before regaining his footing. His girl was looking up at him, biting back a smile. In her hand was a pack of - oh, Lord.

“What do you think?” She asked, holding up the pack of panties.

He couldn’t. “Great. I - yeah. Looks good.” 

She hooked her fingers into the shopping basket, using it to tug him closer. The plastic packaging glared under the light and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the model on the front. All he could think about was how they’d look on you.

There wasn’t much else in the basket. Toothpaste, an extra toothbrush, a few t-shirts. She’d been reluctant to pick some, insisting that she was more than happy wearing his. Steve had blushed furiously and picked some out for her, ignoring the pleased look on her face.   
Still, it hadn’t been close to the embarrassment he’d felt when they’d been on the female hygiene aisle. He’d pointed to the packs of tampons and blubbered uselessly, fumbling over his words and further embarrassing himself. 

“Do you -“ he coughed, “do you have. . .those needs?”

She’d rocked on her feet, staring contemplatively at the high ceilings. “Do you think I should?”

“What?”

“Do you think I should?”

“Yes? Well, you have a womb, so I think you probably would?” Every answer sounded more like a question. “Do you have a womb?”

“Yes,” she’d finally answered, “I do. I’ll have a period, then. What ones should I get?”

Steve had turned an unattractive fuchsia colour and shoved six boxes into the basket without looking. Periods didn’t gross him out but discussing them with an attractive woman was making him flustered. 

In comparison, panties really weren’t that bad. Steeling his nerves, Steve stood a little straighter and tried to look menacing. Several men and women were lingering at the end of the aisle and he was not a fan. His attempt at being intimidated was ruined by the fact his woman was trying to cover her laughter behind her hand and definitely not succeeding. 

🌕

The days were flying by, made quicker by the fact that he was actually enjoying them. He loathed going to sleep at night and adored waking up in the mornings. The fact that the her face was the first he’d see was a revelation. He was feeling the stirring of emotions he’d only dreamed of experiencing. And the fact that he was experiencing them with her, well, all the better.

She still slept in the art room but had made the space more comfortable, adding pillows and duvets and blankets. Once he’d realised she was pilfering from his sheet cupboard he’d gone out and returned with armfuls of blankets. Eager to please did not even come close to describing it. 

Sometimes she crawled into bed with him, cuddled until the early hours of the morning before slinking off to her room. Steve’s fingers always twitched, wanting to grab for her and pull her back, and the bed was always unbearably cold when she left. 

It had taken him a while to realise why she was leaving. At first he thought that he was maybe misjudging the situation, that she maybe didn’t feel like that. The realisation that she was waiting for him was a startling one. 

Though his metal health had greatly improved over the past few months it was far from perfect. Even a life-altering event couldn’t defeat depression overnight. His woman was taking that into account and waiting patiently for him to be reading, waiting for him to invite her in and accept her.

The night he realised that, he’d fallen asleep with the dopiest grin on his face and made copious amounts of pancakes the next morning. 

Turning on the stove, Steve watched as she sleepily entreated the room. “Pancakes?”

She perked up instantly. “Like the ones you made last week?”

He grinned, waving the whisk in the air. “Sure. If you want?”

“I want,” she sighed dreamily.  
She settled herself on a seat next to the counter, happy just to watch him work. The slight pressure made his cheeks warm up but his cheesy grin still wasn’t fading. Mixing the batter for the pancakes, Steve hummed to himself. 

“Here, Love,” he said, sliding the first pancake onto her plate. “There’s sugar in the pot and a lemon in the fruit bowl.”

She slid off the stool to grab her toppings but looked curiously over her shoulder. “Love?”

Immediately Steve felt foolish. “I - uh.- well, do you have a name? Because - “

“I do,” she interrupted, “but I like Love. Call me that.”

Steve’s brain skated over the fact. She had a name? He’d have to ask about it later. “Love, then.”

They ate their pancakes in comparable silence, sharing warm looks and occasionally dusting their legs together. Steve felt like a high schooler again, clumsy and new to the female species. Jarringly, it was enjoyable this time around. He wanted to capture each moment and stick it in a bottle so he could go back and look any time he wanted.

It wasn’t until Steve was doing the dishes that she spoke again. “Steve? Why Love?”

He slowed down, idly watching as bubbles burst on his hands. “Why did I call you Love?”

“Mmm.”

“It’s what I felt when I was making you,” he said, “it’s what I feel when -“ when I look at you.

Steve trailed off, letting the words fizzle out like the bubbles in the sink. His heart was hammering in his chest, wondering if she’d picked up on his slip-up. 

It was too soon, right? To say that he loved her? Even though he knew it to be wholly true, there was still a minuscule part of him that told him to wait. Even if it was just for a little longer. 

“That’s why I like it so much,” she gushed, “it had meaning. I adore it, Steve.”

“You do?” He twisted slightly, watching her from his position at the sink.

“Mmm,” she nodded, “names are so important. The good ones can tell you a lot about a person and isn’t that good. To know a person?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, watching her carefully. Plush lips, soft lashes, smiling mouth, humour, adoration. Open eyes that were almost always watching him back.

It was unequivocally good to know a person. 

🌕

It was that realisation that made him want her to meet Bucky.

It was only fair to give her an opportunity to meet other people right? To see how he compared to them? Of course she’d like him if he was the only person she’d ever known.

Steve knew the decision was fuelled by his own self-doubt and it soured any happiness or excitement he might’ve felt. Luckily Love hadn’t caught on, or she was at least pretending not to. Maybe she looked at him a little longer and maybe she looked a little sad every time she slid from his bed and retreated to her own. Steve had ignoring things he didn’t want to know down to a tee.

It wasn’t a big event or anything. Steve had just told Bucky to meet him at the usual bar, but this time he’d be bringing someone along. Bucky hadn’t really said anything apart from a text confirming the time but Steve knew he was full of questions. Hopefully Steve would be able to answer them without revealing too much.

There was an hour left before they were meant to meet Bucky and Steve was shaken, to put it lightly. His girl was wearing loose jeans and one of the tops he’d bought her from the supermarket but all Steve could think was too much skin need to hide her. 

Diving into his own wardrobe, Steve searched until he pulled out one of his own t-shirts. He held it out wordlessly and she took it, glancing from it to him and back again. Resisting the urge to shrink under her knowing gaze, Steve held eye contact and tilted his head. Refusing to give in.

“You want me to wear this?” She asked.

“Yes,” he confirmed. He winced a little, reaching up to tug at the collar of his shirt. “Please. I - this is your first time meeting someone. I’m nervous.”

“I’m not a child,” she said teasingly. Then she reached down, tugged her top from the waistband of her jeans and pulled it over her head in one smooth movement.

Steve turned so fast he barely avoided tripping over his own feet. Naked. Love had no top on and she was standing right behind him and he could almost feel the heat radiating off of her body. Steve heard her step away and the chill that came in her absence settled into his bones instantly.

“How’s this?” She asked, tucking the material into the waistband.

There was still something that wasn’t quite human. Whether it was the sparkle in her eyes, the way her body moved more gracefully than most, or the way her smile lit up her entire face, Steve didn’t know. There was no hiding some things but Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Seeing her in his shirt and knowing others would too evoked an emotion that made him sway on his feet. Bucky would recognise that shirt, would know who it belonged to. A tiny part of him whispered that it was wrong to parade his woman in front of his best friend and taunt him with what he couldn’t gave but the rest of him didn’t give a fuck. He’d struggled for years and now he had found peace. Godsdamn right that he was gonna show her off. 

Yes, Godsdamn. He’d been saying that since he met her because there was no way she was born of a singular god. No, she was born from stardust and joyful tears and the adoration of a hundred forgotten gods who knew what good she would do if put out into the world. If put out into his world. Steve wasn’t entirely sure where she came from but he knew he would spend forever being thankful for it.

He knew that the idea of her came from his head, bu her soul? Her very essence? What kind of ethereal being had had the honour of crafting that? Nothing as wonderful as her could have possibly come from his head. Not when it was filled with such dim and dreary thoughts.

And today those thoughts were clearly getting the best of him. Swallowing deeply, he held steady eye contact with her. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She replied. There was more than one meaning to it.

🌕

The bar was dim and stuffy, low lights adding to the atmosphere along with the strumming of a guitar by some guy up on stage. Steve Di’t miss the way Guitar Guy playing the wrong string when he saw Steve’s girl. 

Placing a steady hand at her back, Steve steered her through the crowd. He kept glancing back at her face, looking out for any signs that she was overwhelmed. If anything she looked intrigued. She was watching the crowd carefully, observing the way people were dancing on the floor or the way groups of people were throwing back shots. 

“I think I’d like to try one of those,” she said casually, pointing at a colourful shot glass. 

Steve winced. He’d never been one for alcohol and it tended to go a little to his head. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she insisted, “I want to know it it tastes like.”

Steve watched her, the excitement in her eyes and the way her hips shimmied slightly. He licked his lips. I want to know what it tastes like too. Coughing, he turned away. Not yet.

“This what you wanted, sweetheart? ‘Cus I’ve got more of where that comes from.”

Steve turned around, a half-smile on his lips. “Buck. Good to see you.”

“Mhm,” Bucky nonchalantly knocked fists with Steve. “It’s good to see you.” 

He directed the last part at Love, who smiled indulgently back. “Bucky?”

“And what’s your name, sweetheart?”

She opened her mouth to reply but paused. “Ve. Just Ve.”

“Ve?” Bucky squinted a little. “That a nickname?”

“Guess so,” she replied, cautiously taking the shot Bucky was still holding out to her. She sniffed a little and her nose scrunched up, but just when Steve was thinking she’d put it down, she tipped the glass up and downed it in one go. “Oh. It burns.”

Bucky laughed, settling into one of the seats at the bar. “You like it?”

“No. But I’ll try another one.”

They both laughed at that. Steve helped Ve into her seat and took the one right beside her, inching it closer without thinking. Bucky was looking at the pair of them curiously but was refraining himself from asking too many questions. 

That restraint didn’t last long into the night. After a couple beers on Bucky’s part and several long, embarrassing conversations about Steve in his youth, Bucky’s lips were sufficiently loosened.

“So,” he gestured between the two of them, “how did you meet?”

Steve began to splutter, so Ve took over without much thought. “In an art museum.”

“Makes sense,” Bucky said, pleased. “This sucker loves art. Makes a lot of it himself, too.”

“I know,” she replied, casting a secretive look over at Steve.

Their own private joke. Steve grinned back, surprised to find all his nervous energy had melted away. There was a lingering emotion, though. One that came out to play whenever Bucky looked a little too long as his girl or when he leaned a little too close for one of his corny jokes. Steve felt like a watch dog, constantly on edge and glancing around, warding off anyone who looked as if they wanted to ask his girl to dance. And there were many of the fuckers.

Steve didn’t want anyone else’s hands on her. He could just about deal with their eyes on her, but their hands? Fury rose up within at the mere thought. It was selfish and unlike him but Love made him want to be selfish. He could be selfish with no regret with her. Would take her from all others and not feel a single thing other than glad.

So when they parted with Bucky, Steve couldn’t have been more eager to say goodbye. As they were walking out, Steve’s hand in hers, Bucky winked. Steve laughed and hurried the pair of them out into the night air.

“What time is it?” Ve asked, looking up into the sky.

“Nearly one in the morning,” Steve replied, “why?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she shrugged, her grin widening. “I just feel crazy. A really, really good kind.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. Eyes lingering on the slope of her nose and the slight pouting of her lips. “Me too.” 

🌕

This time, when you slipped into his bed, Steve let you with the intention of making you stay. Not allowing you to slip away into the shadows of the hallways, escaping back to the reluctant familiarity of your makeshift bed. Steve curled his hand into yours and willed you to stay. 

When you looked up, Steve almost cried. There was no part of you hidden from him. Everything was so open and Steve felt unspeakably lucky. Whatever hardships he’d gone through in his life he’d go through a thousand times over if you was the reward. Steve didn’t have to wonder if you felt the same. He just knew.

“Are you sure?” The tentative question echoed in his room, bounced around in his head.

Steve responded with his mouth on you, removing any further doubt she may have had. ‘No more doubt, he willed, no more. I’m hers as much as she’s mine’. 

You had done so much for him and now Steve wanted to return the favour. It was all he could think about. He devoured your moans, slipped his hands into yours until he could pin them onto the mattress and make you feel everything he felt. The certainty, the adoration, the arousal. Steve had never been so sure of anything in his life. 

His cock was achingly, painfully hard. Your body was pliant under his touch, like it had been when he’d first been making you. The top you were wearing was flimsy and easily removable. Steve shared one heated look with you before removing it, balling it up and tossing it into some dark corner of his room. His was next to follow.

Your nipples were hard and rubbed against his chest as he moulded them together, slipping his hands under your back until he could press you harder against him. It would never be enough, but he would try. His lips parted when your head fell back, exposing the smooth column of flesh. 

A breathy moan caught in your throat when his mouth descended onto your neck, laving it with affection and the wet heat of his tongue. Marking - he was going to mark you up and the thought was going to drive you insane. 

Tonguing the point just beneath your ear, Steve pulled away. Only briefly to say, “I’m never going to give this back. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” fluttering lashes, wet mouth. “It was yours anyway.” 

Devastating. You were devastatingly beautiful and Steve couldn’t get enough. Your words sparked a hunger in him, exposing desires and needs that he hadn’t had before you. Pressing one last bruising kiss to your lips, Steve finally pulled away and began to travel down your body.   
You startled when his cock brushed against your thigh. You’d been so wrapped up in the feel of his mouth on your breasts that you hadn’t even heard him take them off. A strangled noise caught in your throat when he hummed against your breast, laving the nipple with his tongue. Your back was bowed, arched off of the bed and into his touch. It was verging on painful but you’d put up with that if it meant Steve wouldn’t stop kissing your breasts like that.

It was what you’d hoped for. More than you’d hoped for. Steve Rogers was a man who defied expectations and did so gladly. A man who made you laugh when without trying, who made you thankful for your presence in this place. A man who was going to make you orgasm so hard that you’d feel it for days.

“Steve,” you gasped out, “please.”

Yanking himself from you, Steve trembled. He wouldn’t last long like this. Then again, when had he ever been anything other than worked up around you. 

Hooking his fingers into your panties, Steve dragged them down your legs. Slipping his hands under your thighs felt right, and he pulled you a little closer to him and spread your legs to reveal heaven. 

Arousal had pooled underneath you, dripping from you and making you feel frantic. The plumpness of your flesh had his cock jerking and he reached down to absently palm in. Thoughts were running wild in his head. Steve forced himself to think, made his heart stop racing and instead settled down on his stomach, positioning both of your legs over his shoulders. Spreading you with gentle fingers, Steve leaned close and softly blew. 

Your body jerked before going limp, helpless under the assault of his tongue. He spread you apart, focusing the pressure of his tongue on your clit. It was verging on too much but you took It gladly, eager to meet your first release of the night. The pressure was all building up and you felt as if you would surely explode. 

Steve ignored your pleading easily, only pulling away to press a wet kiss to your thigh and promise that he wasn’t done yet. The man was insatiable and was making you dizzy for it without really having to try. 

You threaded your trembling fingers into your hair, tugging lightly, and Steve moaned. It set off a chain reaction, the sensation so intense that you tried to pull away. Steve kept his hands under your thighs, cupping your ass and spreading you. The wet sound of his tongue lapping at you had you dissolving into desperate tears. 

The sight of your wet face jolted Steve out of his reverie. “Oh, baby. What is it?”

“I - I need - “

“To cum?” He supplied the words for you. “But what about me, baby? I want to eat this gorgeous pussy and not stop until all you can feel is my mouth. Doesn’t that sound good?”

God, it did. But your clit was aching, engorged and begging for his mouth to put you out of your misery. “Please.”

Steve didn’t say anything else, just fastened his lips over your clit and sucked. 

“Oh, Steve,” you moaned, shaking in his hold as he pulled your orgasm from you with nimble fingers. “Inside. Please, need you inside of me.”

Steve looked almost to be in awe, letting his fingers gentle delve into you. “This is for me? You’re gonna let me make love to you?”

“Would let you do anything to me.”  
Steve filed that thought away for further examination on a later date. All he could see was your sex, shining with arousal and clenching for his cock. He’d gladly give you anything you asked for. 

Steve slicked himself up with your arousal, eyes fluttering at the sight of it gleaming on his cock. His fist wouldn’t compare to fucking into you. Positioning himself at your entrance, Steve slid forward and let him cock bump against your oversensitive clit. A whine caught in your throat and you turned on your front, offered yourself up to him like a prize. 

Tomorrow, your skin would be littered with bruises. From loving mouth and possessive fingers. You’d love each and everyone of them and beg for more when the time was right. The time would always be right. 

Fingers sinking into your hips, Steve pressed his cock into your folds and watched as you swallowed him up with little effort. You wiggled a little, still sensitive, and Steve squeezed harder. A soft warning.

“Stop me if it’s too much,” he managed, his voice raspy.

“I want it that way,” you purred, arching your back. Steve placed his hand there without thinking, in love with the sight of you pinned down beneath him. “I want you to give me too much. I want to feel you like you felt me.”

Soft, pliant flesh under hands coated with clay. Nerves overshadowed by anticipation. Longing. Steve remembered it all. Would give it all to you.

A slight movement of his hips and he was buried so deeply inside of you that you’d never get him out. Lodged in heart and mind. A shudder overtook you and you pressed your face into the pillows. Euphoria. 

Steve waited for you to make the first move. Even when he felt your arousal seeping out around his cock, Steve was patient. Your fingers were digging into the duvet cover, scrunching it up and pulling in your frustration. Still, Steve waited until you shoved back on his cock to begin.

The first slide out and in was electric and Steve’s thoughts were confirmed. He’d never get enough of this. Had been addicted before he’d even tried it. Destined to have you. Want burned deep in his blood and Steve fucked you into the mattress, the need to fuck waring with the need to be buried deep in your pussy. 

His fingers found your clit and you felt intoxicated, drunk on the way he rubbed you. The slide of his cock inside made it feel as if you were being caressed from both sides. Your body felt boneless and you knew you’d forever long for this feeling. It would be all you could think about.

A heat was scorching across your skin. Steve’s thrusts were becoming sloppy and he arranged the both of you until you were flat on the bed and he was plastered on your back, fucking vigorously between your thighs even with his hand trapped between your pussy and the mattress.

The orgasm pulsed through your clit and spread from there. Your pussy clenched rapidly around Steve’s cock and spurred him into his own. He thrust once, twice, and then stilled. The warmth the spread from him as he released inside of you made you light-headed. There was something beautiful in knowing that you affected each other in the same way without having to ask or question it. A security that was comforting and necessary.

Steve arranged the both of you again until you were settled comfortably in his arms, his cock still inside you. He caught your curious look an blushed, averting his gaze. “I just - want to feel you. For a little longer.”

“Mmm,” you buried your face into his neck and wiggled a little, “feels good.”

Two people, joined in body and soul and heart and everything that was important.

Yeah. It felt really fucking good.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you can, it means the world!


End file.
